Return To Innocence
by Brittana Fan
Summary: "It was every parent's worst nightmare, and it happened to Santana." This is a story about recovery from severe, prolonged trauma, and so may be triggery for some. Unholy Trinity friendship, with possible Brittana endgame. Angst heavy, but also romance, family and friendship.
1. Chapter 1

**I've had this idea in my head for ages, and thought I'd give it a shot and see what people think. **

**It's Santana-centric, and angsty, and contains references (and possibly flashbacks) to kidnapping and sexual assault.**

**But the fic itself is more about her recovery, and how she sees herself, as well as her desperate desire to simply be a "normal" teenager just like everybody else. **

**Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated.**

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**Chapter 1**

I glance at myself in the mirror as my mother finishes brushing out my thick, dark hair. My eyes have been darkened by a combination of eye-liner and eye-shadow, and I smile rather childishly at how grownup I appear.

"Almost done, mi nina bonita," my mother says, smiling at me in our joint reflection.

I smile back, shifting my gaze between my mother and myself. She looks tired, and apprehensive, and I sigh and shake my head. Dr. Holland is always telling me that I can't keep taking responsibility for other people's emotions. If my mother wants to be nervous about my first day of high school, then I need to let her be nervous. As long as I don't let her emotions effect how I feel, myself.

"It'll be alright, Mami," I reassure her, turning around even though she isn't finished with my hair. "I'll be with Brittany or Quinn practically the entire day."

"Practically? Mija, I thought-"

"Relax, Mom. The _whole_ day, whatever." I roll my eyes. Technically I'll be by myself for 8th period, but my mother doesn't need to know that. I can tell she's already on the verge of begging me not to go.

"Santana..."

"Maribel..."

She scrunches her nose at my usage of her first name, causing me to laugh. With the tension now gone, I turn back around so that I'm facing the mirror.

My mother continues combing through my hair, silently this time, and I relax even further. I have enough anxiety myself, I don't need to be taking on her's, as well.

"You're gorgeous, mija," she tells me, and I unconsciously stiffen at her unexpected choice of words.

"Honey? Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?"

I shake my head quickly, but my heart is beginning to race inside my tightening chest. Suddenly the image staring back at me in the mirror is no longer appealing. No longer wanted. No longer safe. I don't look like myself anymore; I look like _her_.

"Santana, it's okay, you're safe. It's just me. It's just Mami."

"No..." I croak, still staring into the mirror, frozen. I'm not that girl anymore. I don't have to be that girl anymore. "No, no, no..."

I reach for the faucet and switch on the taps, cupping my hands beneath the water and bringing them up towards my face. I need to get it off. I don't want to be her anymore. Bending over the sink, I repeat this action, rubbing frantically at my eyelids with my fingertips.

"Sweetheart, that's not- Here, let me help you." My mother is panicking, but I don't have it in me to care in that moment. What's the sense in reassuring her anyway? I'm obviously not okay.

"Mami," I choke out, spluttering against the water I'd unintentionally inhaled in my frantic attempt to remove my makeup. Her hands are on my shoulders, pulling me upright, and I pray that my body won't react on instinct and strike out at her. It's been months since I've struck either of my parents.

"Mija, let me help you," she says again, pulling my hands from my eyes now. Before I can respond, I feel a cold, damp cloth being pressed gently to my right eyelid, causing me to jerk backwards in fright. "Baby, it's just me, it's just eye makeup remover. You're okay."

I nod, even though I don't _feel_ okay. I know that my mother is safe, and that she won't hurt me. I know that I can trust her, even with my eyes closed. Of course, just because I _know_ this, doesn't mean I'm okay with what is happening. I start to tap my bare foot against the tile, my hands clenching and un-clenching in front of my chest as I wait for my mother to finish taking the makeup off my face.

"Mami," I whimper as the seconds tick by, only slightly relieved when the cloth is pulled away. I can hear her rinsing it out beneath the still running water and hold my breath, waiting for her to place it against my skin once more.

"Here, baby, take this and rinse your face. Try not to open your eyes until it's all off."

I feel the wet washcloth touch my hands and instantly grasp onto it, bringing it to my face and scrubbing roughly. I need to get it off. I need to be _clean_. The cloth falls from my hands at the very thought of not being clean, and despite my mother's warning, I peel open my eyes in order to stare at myself in the mirror. Luckily, I'd managed to wash off the majority of the chemicals, and simply blink away the drops of water that still cling to my eyelashes.

"I'm so sorry mija, I didn't... I didn't know that makeup would be a trigger for you," my mother whispers. She still sounds on the verge of her own panic attack.

I quickly shake my head and stare down at my hands, which are now gripping the edge of the counter-top so tightly my knuckles have turned white. "It's not," I lie, because there's no way she can ever know about _that_. "I just... I'm not used to looking like this." I look down at myself, and the dress that I'm currently wearing.

"I can't wear this," I say, my voice shaky with the tears I've somehow managed to hold back. I can't look like this. Not in public. Not at school. Not _ever_.

"It's okay baby, I'll get you something else to wear," she tells me, before quietly excusing herself from the bathroom and back into my bedroom.

"Fuck," I groan under my breath, realizing that I hadn't yet stepped foot out of the house and already have had a near meltdown. This doesn't bode well for my first day back at school. Maybe my mother _is_ right to worry? Maybe I _should_ just stay home and continue to be home schooled? It's not as if I couldn't see Brittany or Quinn in the afternoons, or on the weekends.

No. That would just be letting _him_ win, and that's the last thing that I want. This is _my_ life now, and I'm going to live it how I want to. He can't control me anymore.

There's a knock at the doorway, and I somehow manage not to jump at the suddenness of it. It's just my mother having returned with a different outfit, and I smile gratefully when I see what she's chosen.

It's my favorite pair of jeans, old and baggy and worn in all the right places. They used to belong to Brittany, but she'd given them to me the summer before our freshman year. The summer before it had happened. I frown at the sudden connection and quickly shake away the thoughts. These were my comfort jeans, and the _hell_ he's going to take them from me, too.

"Thanks," I say, as I take the clothes from my mother. I look down at the light gray t-shirt she'd also fetched, and nearly lose it again, but this time from happy memories. It's also faded and worn, and is from the cheer camp Brittany, Quinn and I had attended that same summer. There's no way she could have known this, but it's the shirt I'd been wearing when I'd had my first kiss; with Brittany.

"You're welcome sweetheart," she says, backing up towards the door. I can tell from the look on her face that she wants to discuss what had just happened, but she's respecting my need for boundaries, and I nod at her gratefully. It had taken nearly half a year to get to this point, and I wish there was something more I could do to show her how much I loved her.

"Mami, I..." I struggle for the words, but they just won't come.

"I know mija, it's okay," she jumps in, giving me a genuine smile as she continues to back towards the door. "I'll be downstairs when you're ready."

I nod because it's the only thing I _can_ do in that moment. A few seconds later and I'm alone in my bathroom, my comfort outfit clutched tightly in my hands.

"You can do this," I say to myself, closing my eyes and taking in a deep breath. It's like what Dr. Holland says: I can do this. I just gotta take things one step at a time. And the first step, is to get out of this dress.

* * *

It's nearing 7 by the time I re-emerge from my bathroom, dressed in my new outfit, and with my hair tied up in a loose pony-tail. Without any makeup, I know I look awful. Like a nerdy twelve year old. The thick framed glasses don't help, but I just don't have it in me right now to try messing with contacts.

Whatever, it'll do. It's not like I'm trying to impress anybody. Or worse, attract anyone's attention. Sure, the _old_ me would have jumped at the chance to saunter down the halls of William McKinley in a tight fitting dress and heels, but that's not who I am now. There's still a part of me that wants to look good, but for the most part, I just want to feel _safe_.

The first thing I notice is the blinking light coming from my cell phone, and I cross towards my bed and pick it up. Laughing, I roll my eyes at the notifications. 5 missed txts, and the day hadn't even officially started yet. I flip open my Motorola and quickly read the messages, my smile suddenly returning to my face.

Apparently Brittany was just as excited as I was for the start of the new school year, or more likely, at the fact that this year I'd _finally_ be getting to attend with her. It was her senior year, and even though I was technically a freshman on record, my parents had managed to convince the school-board to allow me to take the majority of my classes along with, what had once been, my class.

I quickly tap out a reply txt, skipping over the part about my freaking out in the bathroom earlier. Brittany tended to overreact even more than my mother did, and I wasn't going to ruin the girl's excitement this morning with my issues.

"Santana! We need to get going if you don't want to be late!" My dad's voice shouts from the bottom of the stairs.

"Coming Papi!" I shout back, quickly tossing my phone, as well as my iPod, into my school bag. Dropping the bag onto my bed, I walk to my dresser and pull out a pair of socks, unraveling them in my hands as I return to my bed and sit down.

"Santana!"

"Gah! Papi! I'm almost done!" I spot my sneakers by the door and hoist my bag onto my shoulder, shuffling over towards them. Once I've slipped them on my feet, I take a quick look around my room just as a terrible heaviness starts to fill my stomach. As excited as I'd been all morning, I'm suddenly overcome with the desire to simply crawl back beneath the covers of my bed and forget entirely about the notion of going to school. I know it's irrational, but I'm afraid to leave. I'm afraid to leave, because what if it happens _again_?

"Santana?" My father's voice is no longer shouting. It's soft, and careful, and coming from my doorway. I glance away from my bed and over towards him, wincing when I see his sympathetic, worried expression. He's supposed to be my rock; my unyielding support through all of this. I don't need his doubts and fears as well.

"Papi, I'll be fine," I say, readjusting my bag onto both of my shoulders.

Thankfully, he just nods at this and motions with his head for me to follow him out of the room. I quickly fall into step behind him, willing myself not to look back as I exit my room and head down the stairs.

My mother is standing at the front door, and I falter in my step, half expecting her to suddenly change her mind and refuse to allow me to leave. We've been having this argument for the better part of the past month, but I've done everything both she, and Dr. Holland, have asked me to do. This was supposed to be my "reward" for following my treatment plan. And what better reward was there, then the chance to finally be a normal teenager?

"Santana, you don't _have_ to do this. You can stay home with Iago and me. We can enroll you in home schooling again." She sounds like she's trying so very hard not to cry, and I can't help but feel guilty when I shake my head at her suggestion.

"No, Mami, you promised," I tell her, looking towards my father for support. I'm surprised when he doesn't immediately jump to my aid, but instead takes his wife into his arms and hugs her tightly. He then whispers something into her ear that I can't quite make out. Whatever it was, it seems to have worked, and a few seconds later she's pulling away from the embrace and turning to me, her face much more composed than it had been just moments prior.

"I'm sorry mija, but you can't fault me for worrying," she explains as she moves closer, raising her arms like she wants to give me a hug.

"I know Mami. It'll be okay," I reassure her this time, leaning forward to accept her hug. She's right though. I _can't_ fault her for worrying. It's not as if something _didn't_ happen to me the last time I'd left the house for school. Shuddering at the intrusive thought, I focus instead of the warmth and comfort of my mother's arms around me, and eagerly return the hug.

"Make sure you txt me in between classes. And please don't be afraid to call if you get upset and need to talk. Or you know Dr. Holland's number. She said she'd have her phone with her all day, just in case..."

I nod against her shoulder, knowing my mother simply has to get all of this out before she'll feel okay about my leaving. Even though recovery is supposed to be a selfish process, the last thing I ever want to do is worry my parents like that again. So I let her continue to embrace me, until we both jump at the sound of the car horn in the driveway.

"Come on! We're gonna be late!" my brother's voice shouts from the passenger seat of the family's Volvo.

It's still strange for me to think that my _little_ brother is going to be in high school with me. And in the same grade, since we're both technically freshman. In my mind, he's still the pudgy little sixth grader he'd been before I'd been taken. Now he's a pudgy, medium sized ninth grader, who still seems to take great joy out of annoying me at every possible moment.

Out of everyone, Manny has treated me the _least_ like a traumatized, fragile victim. It's not that he doesn't understand the severity of what I'd been through, but in his mind, my new found "issues" don't make me any less his big sister, and therefor it's still his duty to drive me insane whenever he can. He probably doesn't know this, but sometimes I like to hang around him in the hopes he'll say or do something irritating, or in some other way try to upset me. He's the only person in my life that makes me feel _normal_, and I hope that one day I can explain this to him, and find some way to thank him.

"Satan-a! Stop making Mami cry, and get in the car! You're going to make me late for the most important day of my life!" Manny shouts, and I can't help but chuckle as I roll my eyes and pull out of my mother's embrace.

My father has already headed out to the car, and I can hear him yelling in Spanish at my brother, who has begun laying on the horn again.

"And you're worried about _me_ making it through my first day?" I joke, and my mother seems relieved at my efforts to remain unaffected by my brother's words. Even though I've explained to her numerous times why I don't mind Manny's taunting, she still gets upset at the boy when she's around to hear him do it.

"I love you, mi nina preciosa."

My mother's words startle me, but in a good way. "I love you too, mom," I tell her, backing towards the front door. I know if I don't make a break for it now, that we really _will_ be late.

She seems conflicted, but eventually just clasps her hands in front of her stomach and nods at me. I take this as my cue to leave, and without letting myself dwell on the fear still coiled deep within my belly, I exit the house and head towards the family car.

* * *

According to the clock on the dashboard, it's now 7:22am, which means I have only 8 minutes to exit the car, enter the school, find and empty stuff into my locker, and then head to my first period class. Manny has already exited the car, having practically done so before my father had managed to pull to a complete stop. It's not that I've lost my nerve or anything, it just feels weird to suddenly take off, as if I didn't care about the struggles both my parents are currently going through.

Even though my dad is better at not smothering me, or making me feel guilty for wanting my space, I know he's just as nervous as my mother about this entire "going to high school" thing. Or more accurately, about me even leaving the house to begin with.

Because even though he'll never say it out loud, I know that he worries about it happening to me again. Which is ridiculous, since the odds of it having happened to me _once_, were pretty damn remote. It's not like we live in a densely populated area or anything. Lima, Ohio is pretty much the farthest thing you could get from a city. So the chances of it happening again? Definitely less than us winning the lottery...

"Are you going to be okay?" I ask, my hands fiddling with the straps of the bag in the foot-well between my legs. "Actually, is _mom_ going to be okay?" I correct myself, knowing that between my parents, she's definitely the one I should be worrying about.

"Santana, the first night that you were missing, do you know what your mother said to me?"

I wasn't expecting that, and shake my head, staring dumbfounded at the man. Neither of my parents have told me much about the time that I was missing. Most of what I know, I've learned from my brother. He hasn't told me anything like this, however, and I can't help but wonder if I even want to know the answer.

"She'd said that she hoped you'd learned your lesson, and that when you returned, you'd stop being such a horrible, ungrateful, bratty child," he tells me, his voice breaking as the words roll off his tongue. I don't know what to say to this, and can only stare at him in shock. The one thing I _did_ know, was that they hadn't reported me as missing until almost a week after I'd disappeared.

My mom and I had been fighting that morning, the result of which was me threatening to "leave, and never come back again," before storming out the front door. To be honest, I'm not even sure what we'd been arguing about, but I know that whatever it was, it wouldn't have resulted in my _actually_ running away.

Apparently my mother had felt differently, and was convinced that I was simply hiding out at one of my friend's houses. And that I'd somehow managed to get not just my friends, but my friend's _parents_, to lie for me when they'd called checking to see if I was there.

It wasn't until five days later, when the school finally got around to calling the house, inquiring if I was still enrolled, that she'd finally broken down and agreed on calling the police.

"She's never forgiven herself, for believing that you'd simply run away in order to prove a point to her."

"Dad, it's not your fault, and it's not Mom's fault," I jump in, knowing that's where his train of thought is going. "I'd said I was running away. You _know_ me. When have I ever _not_ done something I'd said I was going to do?"

He's looking at me strangely, almost like he's struggling with himself over whether or not to accept what I'm saying, or to continue fighting me about it. I'm really hoping for the former, seeing as I now have only 4 minutes before I'm late for my first period class.

"It took us five days to start looking for you, mija. If we'd called the cops that first night, maybe... Maybe we could have saved you from having to go through-" He can't continue due to the fact that he's now crying, his hands pressed over his face as he tries to hide his emotions from me. I want to be shocked at the display, but it's actually a little comforting. My dad has never cried openly in front of me before, and I reach across the console to tug away his hands.

"Papi," I whisper, taking his hands into my own as I wait patiently for him to collect himself. I don't care that the morning bell has just rung, and that I'm now considered late. First period was my math class, so I really don't mind missing out on it. I just hope that Brittany isn't freaking out too badly at the fact I never showed up, or txt'd her to say I'd be late.

"I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to- I told your mother I wouldn't cry when I dropped you off," he says after a few more minutes of soft sniffling and the occasional hiccup. He hasn't looked at me yet, but his grip on my hands lets me know that he appreciates the support.

It's strange, in a way, that I'm supporting _him_ when it comes to what had happened to _me_, but whatever. I love my parents, and I don't blame either of them for not reporting my disappearance sooner. Not that I ever plan on telling them this, but it wouldn't have mattered either way.

Before I can think of something reassuring to say to him, my phone starts going off, and I quickly let go of his hands in order to fish out my Motorola. It's Brittany's ring-tone, and I immediately flip open the phone and press it to my ear.

"Santana! Santana! Where are you? Class started, like, five minutes ago!" her voice is frantic, but hushed, as if she's trying not to draw too much attention to herself. It also sounds somewhat echoed, which means she's probably in a restroom somewhere.

I glance at my dad, but he just motions for me to respond. He certainly understands my best friends worry.

"Hey, Brit-Brit! Everything's okay! I'm just uh... I'm just outside in the car, with my dad. We were running late," I lie, knowing my dad would appreciate my not broadcasting to everyone his little breakdown. Not that anyone would really blame him for it.

"Are you sure? This isn't some sort of code is it? Like, where I'm supposed to know you're in trouble from what you say, and then-"

Her voice cuts off abruptly, before another one speaks up. "Ignore her, she's been watching too much Law and Order lately," Quinn says, and I can almost hear the rolling of her eyes in her voice. "But everything's okay, right? Where are you?"

"Like I said, we were running late. I'm outside with my dad right now."

"Don't lie to me San. You just didn't want to go to math class."

I laugh because I know she's kidding. I also appreciate the effort she's making to treat me as normal as possible. Next to my brother, Quinn is probably the next best person for that sort of thing.

"You're right, you caught me," I respond, shaking my head. I glance towards my father again, curious if he can hear what they're saying. If he can, he's at least making an effort not to appear as if he's eavesdropping. "Hold on one second," I say into the phone, before pulling it away and pressing my thumb over the microphone end.

"I'm gonna go meet Brittany and Quinn," I tell my dad, not wanting to elaborate on the fact that both of my friends have apparently decided to skip first period as well when I didn't show up. I don't want him getting the idea that this was typical behavior for the two, even though it actually sort of was.

Both of my best friends are on the Cheerios, which is the school's varsity cheerleading team. Quinn is actually the captain, and Brittany the second in command. It's a strange concept for me, seeing as all throughout middle school and cheer camp, _I_ had been the second in command to Quinn. It kind of hurts, in a selfish sort of way, to know that while I was going through hell, my best friends were continuing on with their lives as if nothing had happened.

Which is unfair of me to think, since I _know_ that neither of them had "just continued on with their lives". In fact, Brittany had almost been held back her freshman and sophomore years, due to her lack of effort in both homework and class participation. Or really, just showing up to school to begin with.

Apparently she'd blamed herself for my disappearance, since technically I was kidnapped while on my way to _her_ house. I think she also felt guilty for not having called the cops herself, when I still didn't show up for school the following day. Or at least, for not trying harder to convince my parents that I honestly _wasn't_ hiding out at her's or Quinn's houses.

"You're late," my dad replies, looking at the clock on the dashboard as if he's only just realized how long we've been sitting there. "Do you need me to walk you in so I can explain? I don't want you getting written up because I couldn't keep it together."

I quickly shake my head at the offer, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to myself by having him walk me to class. Or to the main office to get a late pass. "I'll be fine, dad. I can handle it," I tell him, though he doesn't look convinced.

"Alright mija, just please txt me once you get settled. When the teacher isn't looking, of course."

I smile at that and lean across the center console, wrapping my arms around him. "I will Papi. I love you," I tell him, as I slowly pull out of his embrace and open up the passenger's side door. Once I'm out of the car and my bag is slung over my shoulder, I turn and peek my head back in. "Have a good day at work. And try not to worry too much, okay?"

He looks at me incredulously and shrugs his shoulders. "I'll never stop worrying, Santana. But I _will _stop holding you up, and let you get to class." He laughs and winks as I slam the car door and step back off the road and up onto the grass.

For a moment I think he's going to just pull away, but instead he points at the front entrance to the building with his first two fingers, then points to his eyes, then back again.

"Really?" I ask sarcastically, even though he probably can't hear me with the door shut. He can read my expression though and nods, pointing back at the building. He wants to watch me enter inside before he'll drive away.

I roll my eyes, but have no reason to protest. It's actually kind of reassuring, knowing he's literally got my back as I turn around and make my way towards the front entrance of my new high school. Only, as soon as I get to the top step and am about to reach for the double doors, that anxious, dreadful feeling I'd had earlier returns.

My first instinct is to turn around and run back to the safety of my dad and the car, but I know if I do that now, I'll never be able to convince him, or myself, to let me try again. And my desire, or need, to go to school and be a normal teenager just like everyone else, is strong. Stronger than the current feeling in the pit of my stomach, at least.

Plus, I know if I wait any longer, paused at the top of the steps, my dad is going to think something's wrong and come try to help me. He wouldn't be helping me though, he'd be holding me back. And I don't want to be held back any longer. Not by my parents, and not by my fear. I can do this. I just have to take things one step at a time.

And right now, the first step is to open the doors to William McKinley High School, and finally enter inside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the reviews and alerts and favorites! :)**

** Here's the next chapter. At the end I've included another authors note, where I answer some of your anon questions. **

**I hope you guys enjoy! And as always, I would love to hear what you think!**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_Plus, I know if I wait any longer, paused at the top of the steps, my dad is going to think something's wrong and come try to help me. He wouldn't be helping me though, he'd be holding me back. And I don't want to be held back any longer. Not by my parents, and not by my fear. I can do this. I just have to take things one step at a time. _

_And right now, the first step is to open the doors to William McKinley High School, and finally enter inside. _

The second step is to remember the phone in my hand, and my two friends on the other line who are hiding somewhere in the building, waiting for me. Unfortunately, at some point in my journey from my parent's car to the front lobby of the school, I'd accidentally hung up on them.

"Woops," I whisper, frowning at the closed cell phone clenched in my hand.

Before I can pop it open again, another voice interrupts and I jerk my head upwards, spotting a tired looking, middle aged woman seated behind a fold out table opposite me. "You're late," the woman tells me sternly, motioning me towards her.

I quickly shove my phone into my pocket and cross hesitantly towards the table, my eyes scanning an open notebook laid out on its surface. It's blank, and has no instructions for me, but I can tell by the woman's stare that I'm supposed to do something with it.

"I don't-"

"Write your name, your grade, the time, and the reason you're late," she interrupts me again, and I can't help but wince at the annoyance in her voice. I don't even know this woman, but the fact that I've upset her bothers me. I don't like when people are angry with me, for obvious reasons.

Taking the pen from next to the book, I quickly jot down the required information, pausing only briefly to consider what to put for why I'm late. I settle on "missed the bus", and look up at the woman for approval.

She eyes me warily and turns the notebook towards her, reading over what I've written. "Santana Lopez?" she says aloud, her voice contemplative, like she's trying to recall where she knows my name from.

I shift uncomfortably in front of her, knowing exactly where she'd have heard my name before; on the news. Or in the newspapers. Or on the lips of those inclined to gossip, which is pretty much everybody in this town.

"Oh. Oh..." She glances up at me, her face no longer hard and strict, but sympathetic, pitying. If I knew better who she was and what she did here, I might have rolled my eyes at her. I hate when strangers look at me like that, like they _know_ me. Or what happened to me.

They don't, though. I mean, they can speculate, obviously. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what happens to young girls that are abducted off the streets.

"I'm glad you're okay," she tells me, making me even more uncomfortable. "I remember watching the news about your disappearance. I wouldn't let my own daughters out of my sight for a month."

_Well good for them_, I think._ They must have loved that._ "Is that all?" I ask impatiently, anxiously tapping my hands against the tops of my thighs as I try my best not to get angry, or upset.

This isn't new. Ever since people have become aware of my return, they seem to think it's okay to talk to me about what happened, or what they think happened. Or to talk to me as if they cared about me. It's one of the reasons I refrained for so long going out in public. My parents thought it was because I was afraid, which isn't untrue, but a lot of it had to do with my not wanting to come into contact with people like her.

People like her made it impossible for me to forget; even for a little while.

"Don't worry about getting written up, we all understand." She starts filling out a small, pink piece of paper, handing it to me when she's finished. "But give this to your first period teacher, so they don't mark you as late."

I take the paper and force a smile to my face, even though a part of me wants to crumple it up and throw it back at her. The _hell_ she understands. If she understood, she'd be assigning me detention or something. You know, whatever it is that actually happens to kids that are late.

"Um, thanks," I tell her instead, turning quickly from the table before I say anything else. Before I say something that might _actually_ get me in trouble.

She lets me go without another word, and I find myself heading left down the hallway that should lead me towards my locker.

Brittany had somehow managed to secure me the one directly next to hers, and had spent the better part of half an hour giving me directions towards it over txt message. This was a few days ago, but I remember her instructions well enough, and soon find myself standing in front of locker number 67.

At this point I realize I'm still holding the pink late slip, and quickly crumple it up in my fist. I have no intentions of going to my first period class, and wouldn't have given it to the teacher even if I did go. Squashing the paper into my back pocket, I fish out my cell phone just as it begins to vibrate and chime.

"Shit," I hiss, quickly turning it to silent, before glancing up and down the hallway to see if anyone has heard. The hall is empty save for myself, and I relax a little and flip open my phone. I immediately spot a txt notification from Quinn, but ignore it and instead open up my inbox and search for the one I'd saved that contains my locker combination.

I guess starring it for easy retrieval wasn't the best idea, seeing as I tend to star most of Brittany's txts. Quinn txts two more times before I finally find the right one and turn my attention to my locker. Brittany had warned me that they tended to stick, but mine opens on my first try, and I smile hugely at the surprise I find inside.

Instead of it being empty, the red metal walls are lined with photographs of myself, Brittany and Quinn. Pictures from cheerleading camp, from various sleepovers, from that one Halloween we'd gone out dressed as the Powerpuff Girls. There's also a pink and red plastic mirror on the door; the frame covered in purple X's and O's, and below that is a basket filled with what appears to be rainbow glitter pens.

"You guys..." I whisper in astonishment, completely blown away by the surprise. Forgetting about the books I need to put away, I quickly open up the txts Quinn had sent me, rolling my eyes at my friend's continued worry. I immediately type out a reply, deciding not to mention the locker yet, and instead simply ask where they are so that I can find them.

It doesn't take long to get a response, and I shut my locker and head off in the direction of the girl's locker room.

00000

It takes me longer than it probably should have, finding the girl's locker room, but the school is a lot larger than I remember it being back when I'd toured it as in incoming freshman. Well, the first time I was an incoming freshman.

Pushing open the door, I'm immediately overcome by the scent of bleach and other cleaning chemicals. And rubber, for some strange reason. Letting the door slip shut behind me, I wrinkle my nose at the offensive odor and slowly make my way past the rows of lockers, peering left and right as I attempt to find my friends.

They find me first, and before I can reassure myself that these people are safe, and it's okay for them to touch me, Brittany has bounded from out of nowhere and attached herself to me in a great big bear hug.

"Santana! You're here!"

What happens next undoubtedly scares the girl more than it does me. I strike out at her, aiming for her face, but missing by a few inches. I'm disoriented in this unfamiliar room, and she's come at me from behind, leaving me unbalanced and unsure of my target.

"Brittany! Get off of her! What are you- Brit!" Quinn's voice fills the room, causing the figure attached to me to loosen its grip before letting go completely.

At this point I've calmed down enough to realize where I am, and who's been touching me, and immediately feel my body heat up with shame. I'd almost hit Brittany for giving me a _hug_.

"Santana, are you okay? I am _so sorry_, I don't know why she did that," Quinn asks from a few feet away, and I slowly turn to look at her. She has Brittany's arm in her grasp; the taller blonde looking absolutely terrified.

"Sanny, I didn't mean to scare you, I was just so excited to see you," she starts to explain, her voice trembling, on the verge of tears.

I'm still breathing heavily, and probably shaking as well. But I push away the desire to yell at them for startling me, and instead move forward, wrapping my arms around my two best friends in the whole world. They stiffen momentarily, but eventually return the hug.

"Brit, you can't do that to me," I explain gently when I pull away.

Brittany's normally pale face is deep red, and damp from the tears she wasn't able to hold back. I'm not mad at her, but I know she's more upset with herself, than at me for trying to hit her.

"B, don't look at me like that," I sigh, wiping at her cheeks with my fingertips. She pulls away from me after a few seconds, stepping back behind Quinn and wrapping her hands around the girl's elbow. Quinn glances over her shoulder at her, and they share a brief, silent conversation before turning back to look at me.

It hurts more than I want to admit, seeing them act this way with each other. So closely in-tune with the other's thoughts and feelings. It's how Brittany and I used to be. Quinn was my friend, sure, but she and I never had the connection that I'd shared with the other blonde. But now, I can't help but feel like the intruder on_ their _special bond.

Dr. Holland keeps telling me I should tell them how I feel. Except, how do you tell your best friend that you feel like you've been replaced by your other best friend? At least, without coming across as jealous and needy.

I mean, shouldn't I be _happy_ that Brittany and Quinn grew closer while I wasn't around? They could've easily drifted apart without me there as the glue holding them together. And I know Quinn would've been okay if that'd happened. She was still somewhat of a "new girl in town", so would've eventually made other friends.

Brittany, on the other hand...

"Sanny?"

I shake my head at the girl's voice, focusing my attention back on the here and now, and not on the what ifs.

"Sanny?" Brittany asks again, her eyes still brimming over with tears. "Are you okay? You went away again. In your head."

I sigh and rub at my temples with the heels of my hands. "Yeah B, I'm fine, I was just thinking," I tell her, half expecting her to then ask me what I was thinking about. She doesn't, though. She just continues to stare at me as if I'm about to fall apart. "Please stop looking at me like that," I plead in exasperation, turning away from the two and crossing over to a nearby bench, sitting down.

They follow me over, though Brittany is still hiding herself behind Quinn, causing me to groan in frustration at the girl's behavior. I want to yell at her to knock it off, but I know from experience that it'll only make things worse.

This is the reason I didn't want to see either of my friends right away, after I was recovered. I can remember laying in the hospital bed, clutched tightly to my mother, while they waited outside in the hallway, wanting desperately to see me.

They waited for nearly two days outside my door before my father was able to convince them to go home. That he would call them when I was doing better and wanted to see them. He didn't call them for almost two months.

"She can't help it San," Quinn explains softly, moving to take a seat next to me. Brittany follows and sits on Quinn's other side, still holding tightly to her elbow. "She's terrified of upsetting you again."

I sigh and rub my palms over my face, collecting myself. I'm not mad at Brittany, I'm just disappointed. I thought we were past this, but apparently not. "It's okay B, you didn't upset me," I reassure the girl, removing my hands and leaning forward so I can look across at her. "You just startled me."

Brittany looks to Quinn, who nods slightly, before she gets up and moves to sit next to me on the bench. She reaches for my hand and gently takes my pinky into hers, looking up at me for approval. "Is this okay?"

I tighten my pinky around hers and nod. "Yeah Brit, this is perfect." I smile at her, and she smiles back, causing an entirely different type of weight to settle in my stomach. She's so close I can smell the strawberry Lipsmackers on her lips, and my eyes shift down to stare at them before I'm conscious of what I'm doing.

Brittany just giggles and leans forward, placing a kiss on my nose. There's a tug in my stomach, and in my heart, when I realize I'm disappointed she hadn't been aiming for my lips. She seems to sense this, and looks away, making me feel even worse.

We still haven't talked about that kiss we shared during cheer camp; a mere two weeks before I was kidnapped. I guess back then we'd thought we'd have the rest of our lives to figure out what it meant. I guess we were only half right.

"So did you go to your locker yet?" Quinn breaks the silence, probably sensing Brittany's unease as well. I don't know if Brittany has told her about the kiss.

"Oh my God, I loved it! You guys are insane. When did you even have time to do it?" I ask, knowing there was no way they could have decorated it all this morning.

"Oh, Coach Sylvester gave me a key to the building ages ago," Quinn explains. "Well, technically it's supposed to be just for the gym and the locker rooms, but it gets me into the rest of it as well." She shrugs at this before continuing, "Brit and I snuck in last night and put it together for you." She's beaming at me now, obviously excited that I'd liked their surprise.

"Well, thank you," I bump my shoulder against the girl and she bumps me back. Quinn and I were never as touchy feely as I was with Brittany, but I think she preferred it that way. I think we both preferred it that way. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to see it before class started."

Quinn raises her eyebrow, as if suddenly remembering that I was late. "Your dad wouldn't let you out of the car, right?" she asks, smirking. She's been over my house enough times the past few months to know how my parents sometimes treat me.

I laugh and shake my head. "He started crying. But don't tell him I told you that, I think he was embarrassed."

"Or worried," Quinn offers, shrugging empathetically. "We were worried when you didn't show up before the bell. Poor Brittany was convinced you were take-" she trails off, her eyes going wide as she realizes what she was about to say.

"Taken again? Abducted? Kidnapped?" I ask, rolling my eyes as Quinn winces at my words. "Guys, saying it out loud doesn't mean you're jinxing me or anything." I try my best to keep my re-emerging annoyance to a minimum. "It's not going to happen again just because you talk about it." I tell them, as well as myself.

"I didn't think that," Quinn quickly shakes her head. "I just didn't want to, you know, trigger you."

I frown at this, but manage to keep my anger in check. It's not as if Quinn _hasn't_ triggered me before by something she's said, or done. But she's not supposed to censor herself around me. That had been one of my conditions before I'd allowed her and Brittany to come visit me for the first time.

"Yeah well, let me know how that goes." I retort, glaring down at my sneakers.

There's a sudden chirp and Brittany pulls her hand from mine, reaching into the waistband of her skirt, where she's apparently tucked her cell phone. I keep my head down, but watch from the corner of my eye as her face lights up and she begins typing out a reply to whatever txt she'd just received.

"What, are you sexting your _boyfriend_?" I ask jokingly, my voice laced with sarcasm. I can't help but be jealous that she's suddenly talking to someone else. Someone that's making her smile, instead of cry.

"No, he just wanted to know why I'm not in homec right now. He'd saved me a seat," she responds, before placing her hand over her mouth and gasping.

I turn to look at her fully now, my eyes no doubt as wide as hers as I stare at her in shock. Brittany has a boyfriend? Why the hell was I only finding this out _now_? She shakes her head, looking over my shoulder at Quinn, I guess for help covering up her lie.

"San, please don't be mad at her."

"Who?" I ask, ignoring Quinn's plea as I glare angrily at my friend.

Brittany's eyes are watering over again, and she clutches her phone in her hands in front of her mouth. She's obviously afraid to tell me.

"Who?" I ask again, my voice louder this time. When she continues to stay silent, I shoot to my feet and scramble past Quinn, needing to get away from them so I can sort through my thoughts and feelings.

How could Brittany not tell me she has a boyfriend? We've spent nearly every weekend together for the past three months! How could she have kept this from me?

I hear Quinn calling my name, but ignore her again and shove open the locker door, stepping out into the hallway.

"Welcome to McKinley! Loser!"

Immediately, a wall of frozen liquid slams into my face, and before I can even register what it is I've been hit with, I collapse downwards into a ball and completely black out.

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**Authors Note 2: **

About the home-schooling, since I never said how long she was home-schooled for originally, you can't assume it was long enough for her to be able to start as anything other than perhaps a second semester freshman. I'm purposefully being very vague about dates and time periods and the lengths of things so as to make it more mysterious what happened to her ;)

About Brittany vs Santana as the main character, I do agree that Brit would have fit better as the victim/survivor in this plot. I was actually going to write this story four times, where the main difference is which girl it happened to, and how they react/adjust/cope... I didn't think I could commit to that though, so I just went with Santana, since I tend to like her more and find writing her easier for me.

Although I'm having a ton of trouble writing in first person present tense. More so the tense than the pov, so I apologize for the awful grammar that I'm sure is sprinkled all throughout this fic. It's harder than I thought it would be, and I might actually go back and shift these two chapters into past tense so that my future chapters are easier for me to write. Seriously, the have/had, was/is, say/said distinctions are a lot harder than you'd think.

I guess that's all... next chapter will hopefully be up in a few days. I'm also working on the next chapter of "A Freak Like Me" for those that are waiting on that one :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys, short update today. I didn't get as much response to that last chapter, so I'm going to try writing smaller ones to post more often. **

**Thank you though for all the kind words and the alerts/favorites :)**

**I'd love to know what your guys theories are on what happened to her, btw ;) Especially after you read this chapter.**

**Anyway, Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 3**

_I hear Quinn calling my name, but ignore her again and shove open the locker door, stepping out into the hallway. _

_"Welcome to McKinley! Loser!"_

_Immediately, a wall of frozen liquid slams into my face, and before I can even register what it is I've been hit with, I collapse downwards into a ball and completely black out. _

00000

The next thing I'm consciously aware of is my position laying down, and the sensation of something sticky coating my face. I scream because I don't know what it is, and immediately start clawing at my skin, rubbing frantically with my palms to try and wipe the substance away. It's not working, and my fear quickly morphs into resignation as I give up and begin to cry.

"Santana! Mija! It's okay sweetheart! You're okay. There's nothing there, I promise."

In my overwhelming flood of terror and hopelessness, I must have missed the clues that I wasn't alone, and as soon as the presence next to me breaks through my awareness, I seize up and start choking on my sobs. I'd thought I was only dreaming, but apparently I wasn't. I was back there, with _him_.

"No... no, no... please no..." I beg in between gasps for breath, my palms once more pressed to my face. "I can't... I can't..."

"Santana, honey, you're okay. You're safe. It's just Mami. I've got you nina. Mami's got you."

The figure shifts next to me, their voice soothing and not at all what I am used to, or expecting. It doesn't sound like him. It sounds like...

"Mami?" I ask, barely above a whisper. My sobs are still wracking my body but I pull my hands away, only to realize that the ceiling I'm now staring up at is my own. I'm in my room. I'm in my room, and my mother is laying next to me in my bed. I'm safe. I'm not there anymore.

"Si mija, es tu Mami. Eres bien. I've got you."

"Mami..." I start to cry even harder, unsure of what I'm feeling anymore. It's relief, yes, but also sadness. Or shame. I must have been in a nightmare, which means she'll have heard me talking, or screaming in my sleep. It hurts to even think about it, and I give up and quickly roll onto my side, wrapping my arms around the woman.

Her body immediately curves around mine, pulling me against her chest and into her arms. I don't fight it and simply bury my face into her neck, my body quaking and heaving as I continue to cry out my anguish. My fingers tighten around the fabric of her top as I desperately try to keep her there with me. I'm terrified of letting go in case I'm still dreaming. In case I wake up and I'm alone.

She starts to rub my back, her voice whispering soothingly in Spanish against the side of my head. I can't understand what she's saying because her words are as broken and disjointed as mine had been. She's crying, and that only makes me feel worse as I wrap my legs around her waist and cling to her as tightly as I can.

00000

I must have passed out, or fallen back asleep, for I'm suddenly no longer in my mother's arms, but alone in my bed, wrapped tightly in my blankets. There's a brief moment where the thought of my still being in that house crosses my mind, but it passes quickly and I do my best not to purposefully try and bring it back.

It's a horrible habit I've developed the past few weeks, where I find myself intentionally imagining the what ifs. What if I was still there right now? What would I be doing? What would _we_ be doing?

It's not always negative things, either. Sometimes it's just the two of us watching TV, or him bringing me some new magazines. Or him letting me order take out from his vast collection of fliers; under his watchful eye, of course.

Other times it's horrible things. Disgusting, perverted, _painful_ things. Things I could never even tell my therapist about, for fear that she'll lock me up in one of those loony bins for damaged people like myself. Right now she thinks I'm getting better. That I'm making progress. But if she knew what goes on inside my head... If my _parents_ knew...

No, I can't think about that. I _won't_ think about that. I need to focus on the things that are _actually_ happening to me, and not just things that I imagine in my mind.

"Mami?" I ask into the dim room, lifting my head off my pillow to check to see if she's still next to me, but maybe was giving me some space. She's not though, and I start to tear up as I mourn the loss of her presence, and the comfort it always gives me. I like knowing she's there, even when I'm sleeping.

"She's with the baby, honey, but she'll be back soon," a male voice informs me, instinctively causing me to flinch. "Santana, it's just me. I'm not gonna touch you. I'm over by the door."

I flinch again at the hurt in my father's voice, and slowly turn my body so I can spot him right where he said he was. He's sitting in my desk chair a few feet from the open door to my room, his body hunched over and his face half hidden behind his fists. My desk lamp is on, casting a shadow over his tired frame.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, but he shakes his head and pulls his hands away, looking up at me.

"Don't be," he responds, the hard line of his jaw easily telling me he's more upset with the situation than at my reaction to his presence. I've been home long enough for the two of us to know what he can and can't do around me. And being close to me while I'm sleeping is definitely something he can't do.

I drop my head back onto my pillow and pull the corner of my blanket into my chest. "Can you get her?" I ask hesitantly, sadly. It's embarrassing to have to ask for my mother, but I'm still feeling unsettled and raw. I know that I'm missing some time, and would rather hear from her what had caused it.

My father shifts in his seat, dragging a hand back through his graying hair. "San, she's with Iago, she'll be back in a little while," he tells me, his voice apologetic in that infuriating way of his. It's like he's only sorry for his words and their effect on me, and not for his inability to give me what I'm asking for.

Normally I'd let it go and just wait in agonizing stillness for her return, but right now the thought of my mother with the baby upsets me more than usual. "Papi, please, can you get her?" I ask again, my voice shaky as I fight with myself not to start crying. If I cry, he might try and comfort me, and right now I just want my Mommy.

"She's feeding him, San," he explains, as if that matters to me in the slightest.

"So? You can feed him too, can't you?" I ask bitterly, my distress now mixed with my rising resentment. Iago doesn't _need_ my mother to feed him. At least, not more than I need her here with me right now.

My father sighs and places his hands on his knees, looking away from me. "I can San, and I have been. Your mother's been in here all day with you while you've slept, but she needs to spend some time with him, too."

"You mean, she needs to spend some time away from _me_," I counter, pulling my knees up into my chest and folding my arms over my face. I really don't like fighting with my dad, but in that moment it seems a better option than just letting it go and waiting for my mother to come to me when she's done. If I get him upset he'll leave, and then he'll _have_ to go get her.

He knows I'm trying to bait him though, and somehow manages to keep himself calm as he turns his attention back on me. "Santana, you can be mad at me all you want, but your mother is doing the best that she can. There are two other children in this house, and they need her just as much as you do."

I laugh at this and shake my head against my arms. Manny and my mother have never been close, and my disappearance seems to only have furthered that gap. When she's not yelling at him to clean his room or to leave me alone, she's constantly stressing over how he's turning out "just like his father." Whatever that means.

Iago, on the other hand...

"I hate him!" I suddenly shout, rolling onto my stomach and pulling my pillow over my head. "I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!" I scream into my mattress, my anger now focused on the one year old down the hall. I don't care that he's innocent, I hate his existence more than I hate what has been done to me.

"I know you feel that way now, mija. But it'll be different when he's older."

I kick my legs against the bed, refusing to listen to him. It doesn't matter how old Iago is, he'll still be a reminder of everything I went through. There's no way I'll ever be able to look at him and not think about it. "I hate him, Papi," I insist, my voice muffled against my bedding. "It's not fair. He shouldn't be here."

There's a dip in my bed, but I'm too wound up to react like I normally would. I don't even flinch when I feel my father's hand on my back, rubbing in gentle circles; in the way my mother does when I'm like this. He pulls the pillow from over my head and I let him, too exhausted to put up any sort of fight.

If I wasn't so angry, I might have been impressed that I'm able to let him get this close to me without my freaking out. As it is, all I can think about is my mother, and the baby that shouldn't be here. The baby that was meant to be my replacement.


	4. Chapter 4

So this is a really short update, sorry. I've been having trouble getting back into the swing of this fic, and I really didn't want to leave everyone hanging too long. There's so much I have planned, I just gotta get the story moving.

Thank you for all the alerts and favorites, and especially the reviews. You guys are amazing, but you already knew that ;)

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and just keep in mind I'm going off of how things seem to work in the show, even if it doesn't seem realistic "in real life". Also, I'm aware of the fact I haven't answered a huge question a lot of you guys had after reading the last chapter, but that's coming up in the next one, I promise ;)

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**Chapter 4**

_There's a dip in my bed, but I'm too wound up to react like I normally would. I don't even flinch when I feel my father's hand on my back, rubbing in gentle circles; in the way my mother does when I'm like this. He pulls the pillow from over my head and I let him, too exhausted to put up any sort of fight. _

_If I wasn't so angry, I might have been impressed that I'm able to let him get this close to me without my freaking out. As it is, all I can think about is my mother, and the baby that shouldn't be here. The baby that was meant to be my replacement._

00000

"San," my father speaks softly, his body shifting further onto the mattress so he's sitting alongside me. "Why are you _really_ upset?" he asks, and I sigh, turning my head towards him. His hand is still rubbing soothing circles on my back, and I find myself unconsciously inching closer to him. "Is this about what happened at school today?"

I nod, slowly turning so that I'm on my side now, looking up at him through a curtain of bangs. In this position he can't reach my back without leaning over me, so instead he begins to brush my hair from my eyes.

"What do you remember?" he asks.

I think back to the last memory I have of this morning and frown, recalling the conversation with Brittany and Quinn. "I was uh, I was walking in the hallway and... someone... dumped something on me?" I ask, scrunching my face up as I try and make sense of what I _do_ remember. "It was really cold."

My dad nods and leans back so he's resting against my headboard, his hand still playing in my hair. It occurs to me then how close my face is to his lap, and I pull away, feeling nauseous. "It was a Slurpee, or a slushie, whatever it is you kids call it," he tells me, pretending he hasn't noticed my recoil.

I reach behind my head, finding a multicolored stuffed unicorn that Brittany had given to my parents to give to me while I was still in the hospital. Pulling the plushie into my arms, I wedge it securely between my face and my father.

"I don't understand," I tell him through the spiky rainbow mane.

He shrugs and sets his hands in his lap, understanding that to touch me now would be too much for me.

"Your friend Quinn tried explaining what had happened when your mom and I got to the school, but to be honest, I wasn't really paying attention. I think throwing these slushies on new kids is some sort of freshman hazing."

"I was hazed?" I ask, raising a brow even though I know my dad can't see my face.

"No, I think it was the boy that was being hazed. You were just his vi-" he stops short, but it's obvious what he was about to say.

"His victim? You can say it dad, it's not going to freak me out," I respond, muffling my annoyance in the unicorns soft, white fur.

There's a few moments of strained silence, where I think my dad's going to start crying, but instead he sighs and rests his head back in order to stare up at my ceiling. "Do you remember what happened after he threw the slushie on you?"

I roll onto my back and stare up at my ceiling as well, squinting to try and make out the faint glow of the few stick-on stars that hadn't fallen off in the ten years or so since my father and I had painstakingly placed them up there.

"I blacked out," I respond eventually, already knowing in my heart that I'm not going to like hearing what I may have done afterwards.

"Your friends, I guess, heard what was going on, and they got to you and tried to help you," he starts, still looking up at the stars on my ceiling.

"And?" I ask when it's apparent he's not immediately going to continue. "Dad, you can tell me. Did I say something revealing? Did I wet myself? What?"

He looks down at me now, his expression only confirming what I've subconsciously been fearing. "You didn't mean it honey, and Brittany knows that. She's not mad."

Letting go of my unicorn, I pull myself up so I'm sitting across from my dad, my face contorted in agony. "Papi, did I hit her?" I ask, barely above a whisper. I already know the answer, but I need to hear it from him.

"Mija, like I said, she knows you didn't do it on purpose. That you were just scared and reacting on instinct."

It's all I need to hear before I'm scrambling off the bed, frantically searching my room for my sneakers. I need to see Brittany. I need to see what I've done to her, and explain to her that it had nothing to do with my being angry at her for not telling me about her boyfriend.

"San, you can't go over there now, it's the middle of the night," my father explains, and I glance at the alarm clock on my nightstand, frowning at the bright red, glowing numbers. It's past nine, and I know Brittany's parents don't like visitors this late.

"Where's my phone?" I ask, suddenly worried I might have lost it in the chaos earlier in the day.

"It's on your desk with your school bag," my dad tells me from his spot now perched on the edge of my bed. I know he's struggling with wanting to get up and help me, but am thankful he's keeping his distance. I can't deal with reassuring him right now. _He_ wasn't the one I had hit.

Grabbing my phone, I immediately feel my chest tighten at the sheer volume of missed calls and txts. Flipping it open, I scroll down to the bottom of the list and select the first message. It's from Quinn.

**"Brittany's fine. Nothing's broken, but we're taking her to the hospital just in case. It's not your fault."**

Not surprisingly, her reassurance at the end does nothing to quell my mounting distress over the simple fact that, not only have I hit my best friend, but I've apparently hit her hard enough to send her to the hospital.

I feel light headed all of a sudden and stagger my way over to my computer chair, curling myself into the seat as I begin to read the next message. This time it's from Brittany, and it has a photo attached to it.

**"theyr givin me the good stuff San! c it doesnt evn hurt!"**

The photo is taken at an awkward angle, and only shows about half of the girl's face. But what _is_ visible, makes my stomach turn. There's blood coating most of Brittany's mouth and chin, yet despite the obvious split in her swollen lower lip, she's still grinning excitedly at the camera.

"Oh God," I whimper, covering my own mouth with my hand in shock. I quickly switch to the next message, relieved when I see it's from Quinn, and that there's no picture attached.

**"OMG San I can't believe she sent that to you! It's not that bad, honest!"**

The next txt is from Quinn as well, but this one _does_ have an attachment. In this one Brittany is still grinning at the camera, but the blood has been cleaned away; the injury to the girl's lip hidden behind a column of temporary stick on sutures.

Even though the damage seems to be superficial, and contained mostly to Brittany's lip, I'm still not reassured. Regardless of the degree of damage, the fact still remains that I've _hit _my best friend in the entire world. In the _face_.

**"See, it's really not that bad San. Please don't blame yourself. We know you didn't mean it."**

I shake my head as I reread Quinn's txt, wanting desperately to believe her. If I'd not been so angry at them moments before this happened, I might have had an easier time trusting her words. But the truth is, I _had_ been angry. And at Brittany, specifically.

The next group of txts are all from Brittany, and I read through them quickly, my eyes tearing up even though I'm trying my hardest not to laugh.

**"Luv u sanny! xoxoxoxoxoooo cu at scool tomoro! ill bring the drugs!"**

**"nm! Q says i cant bring drugs 2 scool!"**

**"omg mcdreemy is tlking 2me rn!"**

**"y do boy nurss were pink?"**

**"hallp san mcdrmmy shottd me"**

**"y hedloo at san"**

**"i dullvu uuo"**

I start crying at this point, and my dad gets up from his perch on my mattress and slowly crosses over to me. "Honey, it's not your fault," he reiterates what my friends have been saying, and I shake my head at him, unable to put into words that I'm not crying because I'm upset.

I mean, yes, I'm still upset. But Brittany's txts are so very clearly _Brittany. _It's like, even though she's older, and has a boyfriend, she hasn't changed. At least, not in the ways that really matter. In the ways that caused me fall in love with her in the first place almost three and half years ago.

Because even though I was the reason she was sent to the hospital, she'll still continue to txt me, doing whatever she can to make me feel better; to make me smile. She's still the same person she was back then. She's still _Brittany_.

"Mija, there's something else I need to tell you," my father interrupts my thoughts and I wipe at my eyes with the back of my arm, clutching my phone tightly in my other hand. The tone of his voice is alarming, and I try my best to calm down and focus on him.

He gets down on his knees now in front of me, and tentatively places a hand on the corner of my chair. Whether it's to steady himself, or me, I'm not sure. "Because of what happened this morning, since it happened on school grounds..." he's trying his best not to look at me, but I lean forward and place my hand on his cheek.

The gesture surprises both of us, and our eyes instantly meet just as he finishes telling me my fate, "you can't go back to school tomorrow. Honey, you've been suspended."


End file.
